


Against the Chill

by trilliath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, And a mattress, And hands, And quite possibly magic, Awkwardness, M/M, Masturbation, Randomness, Touchy bits, Voyeurism, something's after stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has Stiles's scent for once, and it's up to Derek to keep him out of harm's way while the others deal with the monster. Of course, Derek's not exactly known for his hospitality skills, and when Stiles starts suffering from the cold in their hideout, he has to offer a... helping hand.</p><p>Whoops.<br/>Which doesn't exactly leave Stiles on stable ground for what's coming next, because of course, that <i>something</i> that has his scent is merely a vanguard of the things-after-Stiles fan-club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misslonelyhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslonelyhearts/gifts).



> First chapter was originally standalone, and then I foolishly decided to keep going. This is basically abandoned - just lost the plot and the time for it, but maybe some day I'll come back to it. Unlikely though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because she is awesome and got me into this fandom... this is the first Teen Wolf story I started. Almost 300,000 words of fics later, I can't say I regret it for a second...

"No. You can't go home," Derek snapped, reaching for Stiles's arm.  
The young man jerked back awkwardly, stumbling a pace. Derek could have easily grabbed him anyway, but he let him be, hands shrugging to the side in exasperation. 

Stiles puffed himself back up, leading with his shoulder in a way that said he was ready for a challenge, but also had his hips aligned for a side-swipe. It was something Derek approved of.  
"Hey I don't think you've really gotten this through your gigantic skull so let me make it clear," he said, gesticulating wildly, voice going up in both pitch and tension. "I am _not_ in your pack. There is no way you get to boss me around."

Derek glowered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He on the other hand had shoulders and hips lined up with Stiles. He wouldn't be cutting and running where Stiles was concerned. The parking lot was dark and cold, the aftermath of rain pooling in various places and the air chilly with moisture. The moon peeked out between the clouds, bright and wide, though not full.

"Do you really want to lead them to your house? To your dad?"

That silenced him. He was used to the big bad monsters being after Scott, or Allison, or Derek or anyone, everyone but himself. He was always just collateral. But not this time. He scrubbed both hands over his face roughly and made a groaning sound in the back of his throat, scuffing his trainers against the asphalt in a frustrated little pacing motion. 

He shook himself and turned back to Derek. "Okay fine, what am I supposed to do then?" 

Derek pinned him with a look. "You stay with me. I'll keep you safe."

"Yeah 'cause that usually works around you," Stiles snapped before he thought the better of it.

Derek huffed a tight breath through his nose as he looked away, then turned and started striding towards the black shape of his car.  
"Well _you're_ not dead yet, are you?" he tossed over his shoulder.

"Huh," Stiles murmured, tugging at his lower lip at the thought. Then he blinked and scrambled after the man.

 

________

 

As they turned off to the road to Derek's old house, Stiles sighed. 

"Are all werewolves this predictable?" he muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the muscles in Derek's jaw working, but the alpha said nothing.  
Of course they'd come here. It was home territory. Didn't make it any less creepy and annoying. The silence inside the car didn't help either.

When they pulled up, Stiles heaved another resigned sigh and pushed the door handle open.

"Oh shit," he muttered when the cold night wind hit him as he stepped out of the deceptive warmth of the car. 

Despite the fact that he was also wearing only a tee shirt and jeans, Derek didn't seem to react to the cold at all. Well, except maybe the fact that his nipples were clearly outlined in the fabric and - _oh god stop it_. Stiles wrapped his arms around himself and groaned as he shuffled towards the house. It, at least, would provide protection from the wind.

Derek followed him in, striding close behind him and, like usual, just outside his peripheral vision, which had Stiles craning his head back occasionally just to catch a glimpse of him.

They marched into the entryway, and Derek touched a hand to his shoulder, halting him. Stiles was rather proud of the fact that he only half-flinched that time. The alpha paced around the room, head tilting slightly as he checked for any signs of intruders.

He didn't quite sniff the air like a dog, but it looked like he wanted to as he touched the edge of the bannister. Stiles hid a snicker behind his hand at the mental image of Derek finding a foreign scent and then _marking his territory_ over the intrusion. 

"Come on," Derek said, startling him out of his reverie and striding off into the main room.

"You should sleep," Derek said, pointing at the aged mattress sitting in the middle of the room near the burnt-out fireplace.

"What?" Stiles said.

Derek arched his eyebrows at him. "You. Should. Sleep."

Stiles gnawed on his lip. "Just like that. Here," he said, gesturing widely. Then he twisted to peer back at Derek. "Is this where you sleep?"

Derek's face twitched in an exasperated look that said _Yeah. Duh._

Stiles heaved another sigh and marched over to the mattress, rubbing a hand at the aching bruise below his ribs. It itched too as the skin prickled into goose-bumps in the cold.  
"Don't you, I don't know, ever think about lighting _a fire_ in the fireplace or whatever instead of just…,"

 _balls_ Stiles thought, snapping his mouth shut. _great thing to say to a guy who lived in the burnt-out hulk of a house where his family died in a fire._

But Derek's glare wasn't any worse than usual, so Stiles made sure to purse his lips and shut up for a second as he plopped down obediently on the dilapidated mattress.

Of course that only lasted for about five seconds. "You don't have fleas, do you?" he asked, slapping a palm on the dirty mattress and then coughing and waving his hand through the dust he'd tossed in the air.

As usual he didn't get any response other than a dark look. 

"Wait, so, where are you going to sleep?"

"I'm not," Derek replied, voice curt.

"Oh. Is that like a wolf thing? Are you nocturnal? Scott's not nocturnal."

"I'm keeping watch," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "They're still looking for you."

Stiles grimaced. "Right. Good plan."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Stiles sniffed, rubbing his knuckles over his bare bicep.  
"I don't suppose you have any blankets?"

Derek just gazed back at him silently, a look on his face that seemed to say _a wolf doesn't need blankets._

"Oookay. Nevermind," Stiles said, turning away from the Alpha and glancing down at the mattress for a moment before laying himself down abruptly. 

There was a long silence as Derek stood staring at him. Stiles blinked at the ceiling before turning onto his side and trying to imagine that he was in his own bed, or that there was a fire in the fireplace, or at least that Derek wasn't standing behind him staring at him and he wasn't alone on what was, more or less, the alpha's bed. Eventually though Derek paced away towards the foyer where he could keep an eye out through a broken window for any approach. It was silent, as silent as an old house in the woods ever could be.

But after a while, he realized that there was a sound. A small one, but one that had Derek turning nonetheless. It was the sound of Stiles's teeth, chattering slightly as he shivered against the night air. He looked down at the boy huddled on the mattress, knees tucked up against his chest, shoulders shaking. A dirty mattress. Half of a house covered with ash and dirt. A fireplace that had no fire - that couldn't have a fire. Forget about a room with a soft bed, with cozy blankets and the heater on, a nice cup of hot chocolate to warm your fingers.

But there was one thing he could do. Derek paced back to the mattress with firm strides, decision made. He knelt behind Stiles and the teen jerked, twisting reflexively to look back at him. His eyes were wide with surprise, and perhaps apprehension. But not fear. And something else. Something quickly smothered with an off-kilter grin.

"Oh, hey. Um-,"  
Derek stretched out behind him, rolling his chest against Stiles's more bony back, sliding his arm around his waist and pulling him tight against his body.  
"Wow. Uh-,"

"You're cold," Derek said flatly, tucking his arm and head behind the younger man's and trying not to think about how he smelled though it was nearly overwhelming with his nose this close to his neck.

"Ok," Stiles said, voice cracking. But even if he had argued, it wouldn't have negated the fact that his body was still shuddering against Derek's.

He could hear Stiles's heart rate increase further as Derek's hand splayed against his solar-plexus, could feel it through the thin tee shirt and flat skin of his chest. 

He rubbed his palm there, over his heart, creating a little friction, a little warmth. Just to warm him, he told himself. Not an excuse to press his fingers against the curves and flats of Stiles's chest. Of course, the additional effect his motion had of bumping the edges of his fingers against the tight edges of the younger man's nipples didn't help that self-deception.  
Nor did the faint whimper Stiles made in the back of his throat when Derek's thumb incidentally ran over one of them more fully.

Derek grit his teeth against the impulse to pinch it, pushing his hand down over Stiles's abdomen and away from those temptations. Of course, until his fingers brushed at the hem of Stiles's shirt which had ridden up slightly over his flat stomach. He let out a tight breath against the teen's neck, trying to quash the impulse to push up under it.

But the shudder that Stiles made under his grip wasn't one borne of chill this time. And being so focused on keeping his hand from getting ideas, Derek couldn't resist drawing in another breath against his neck, scenting the way his warming body activated his scent, all the layers of soap and detergent and sweat and high school but mostly that unique thing that was _Stiles_. 

Then, to his amazement, Stiles's hand was pressing down over his own, fingers slipping between his knuckles and gripping him tightly to the teen's belly. 

"That, uh," Stiles managed, voice tight. "That felt good," he said. His hand trembled slightly as he flexed his fingers against Derek's but then, slowly, they tightened, guiding Derek's hand back up his chest, moving it around in a circle again in a slower parody of his earlier brisk rubbing.  
And it wasn't for soothing. Derek could tell because Stiles's heart rate was still climbing. And because Stiles's hand guided Derek's over until his fingers brushed over the hardened edge of one of his nipples. Hard against the chill. Hard against the heat.  
Derek followed the instinct Stiles was driving him towards, pressing one finger on either side of the bud and squeezing. He reveled in the soft sound Stiles made, the way his back arched slightly pushing his chest into the pressure of their hands.

The fingers of his other arm tucked above his head angled down to brush against the younger man's short-cropped hair, to scrape against his scalp. Testing the boundaries, showing hints of his desire. He could hear Stiles swallow. Then the teen's hand tightened on the alpha's and started guiding it downwards again.  
Their joined hands paused over the gap between Stiles's shirt and jeans, touching bare skin. Then Derek inched his hand downward, passing the waistband of his pants and down over his hips. 

"Oh god," Stiles whispered as Derek's hand covered over the ridge of his erection pressing against his jeans.

Derek paused at the words, but Stiles's hand tightened again, closing his fingers more tightly over the curve of him, encouraging the explicit touch. Derek tipped his eyes skyward on a taut breath but he touched the younger man nonetheless, using the heel of his hand on the way down, and the pressure of his fingers on the way back up. He repeated the motion in slow, languid strokes, and then hesitated only momentarily before sliding his hand back up to that bare band of skin. He teased his fingers at the faint trail of thicker hair below his belly-button, and then ran them down along the path it made under his waistband. 

With a flick of his thumb, he undid the button at Stiles's waist. He hesitated after the blatant move but the teen's hands scrambled to tug the zipper down in response, freeing him for a more intimate touch. Stiles's breath sucked in sharply as Derek's hand slid under his boxers and brushed against the hot skin of his dick, closing over him gently. Derek rubbed his thumb in slow circles over the thickest pulsing vein in the younger man's cock, curling his fingers around him carefully. Then he tightened, stroking up firmly along his length and then smoothing back gently. Stiles's head bumped against his free hand and Derek curled those fingers too, scraping the blunt human nails against his scalp. 

His scent was heavy with arousal and sex, the beading pre-cum on the tip of his cock gathered and spread by Derek's fingers for a little lubrication. Stiles's shudders now had nothing to do with the cold. His body pulsed from the core outward in little waves of tension and reaction. His breath came in short uneven gasps. His legs tangled with Derek's, his backside bumping against Derek's groin as he twisted. Derek moved his hand faster and more roughly until Stiles was panting, hand braced against the edge of the mattress. His left leg kicked as he moaned, soft rubber of his shoe barely felt where it connected against Derek's shin. He shuddered, spending himself inside his boxers, coming against Derek's fingers.  
After a long, stuttering breath, then he was still, breathing low and fast, held firmly in Derek's arms. Derek didn't say anything. He felt like he was supposed to say something - but what could you say in a situation like this? So instead he gave into temptation and leaned his face into the crook of Stiles's neck, letting his lips brush the skin there to taste his sweat and draw in his scent. Then he slipped his hand away out of Stiles's boxers and tugged his jeans more or less back into place. Stiles eventually pushed the button back through the loop, and then, save for the once-more faintly audible swallow Stiles made, there was silence.

__________

An indeterminate amount of time later, Derek's cell phone buzzed once, bringing him instantly awake. It surprised him that he'd slept, and also annoyed him slightly. He slipped the phone from his pocket, checking the message. 

_All clear. Hunters took it out. Allison still couldn't figure out what it was, but it's dead so I guess we'll call this a win._  
 _You and Stiles ok?_

Derek heaved a tight sigh and texted back the letter Y. He gazed down at the relaxed face of the young man still pressed tightly against his chest. His lashes were dark against his cheeks whose flat configuration was a stark contrast to their usual curve towards a smile or any of the absurd number of expressions that ranged across his face at any given moment. Never this soft. He grimaced at himself. There were reasons he didn't have softness in his life.

Derek eased back, and Stiles murmured in his sleep, lips smacking slightly as he rolled towards the warm spot Derek left. He was out cold. He didn't even wake up as Derek lifted him, or carried him to the car. He slept all the way until Derek was dragging open his bedroom window, shuffling his leaner form awkwardly against his bulky shoulder so he could get at the frame.

"Oh wow, hey," Stiles murmured, jerking awake. He slipped down Derek's body until he was against the roof, finding his footing and steadying himself against Derek's arm, who was firmly braced even on the angled surface. He gazed down at Stiles with those hard green eyes, and Stiles licked his lips nervously, glancing down at the half-opened window.

"I though I couldn't go home," he said. 

"It's been taken care of," Derek said, glaring out at the empty street, hands shoved in his pockets. 

Stiles pouted a lip, unsatisfied with the answer but thinking the better of arguing it when another gust of cool air ran over the top of the roof and put its chilling edge on them. He shivered again, drawing a glance from Derek, whose eyes were softer than he expected.

"You should get inside," he said.

"I… Yeah."  
He shrugged, and then pushed the window the rest of the way open, ducking his head in first instead of his feet and ended up tumbling through rather gracelessly. He chuckled at himself as he rolled, and glanced up at Derek in time to catch the edge of a grin before it was smothered under broody. Then Derek nodded and turned to go, all lanky smooth motion and dark wind-ruffled hair.

"Derek," Stiles called after him, voice low in volume but tight.  
The alpha paused on the roof turning back to look at him through the open window, eyebrows raised. He waited for a long moment, then made a supercilious face, startling Stiles out of his reverie once more.

"Oh! Um. Thanks."

Derek just narrowed his eyes.

"You know, for keeping me safe," he said, and then shrugged and bit his lip for a second before continuing. "And for…," he swallowed, unable to formulate any other words. 

Derek looked away, jaw working, then flicked his eyes back to Stiles once more before striding away down the slope of the roof.

Stiles sighed as he watched him go.  
"We could maybe do it again some time," he muttered under his breath. 

But as Derek dropped off the edge of the roof, Stiles was fairly certain he didn't imagine the slight jerk of Derek's head when he said it.

 

"Huh," he said to himself, lips twisting into a pleased little smirk as he swiveled on his heel and flopped down on his bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Whoops, I uh... accidentally plot. Yay?

Stiles was going to lose his shit. He'd popped the Adderall before he'd thought it through. This would have been a good day to skip it. Because now he had a very focused urge to masturbate. 

Because.  
Holy fuck. Someone _else's_ hands had been on his dick last night.  
And not just _anyone's_ hands - oh no, no no no no. _Derek's_ hands. _Derek's_ broody-ass sourwolf manly rough-edged but surprisingly gentle -

Yeah. No. That wasn't helping. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his leg awkwardly under his desk to at least bring his knee up to block the direct line of sight from most people who might happen to glance at his crotch, which - given the way his luck went - would be just the thing on the random-glances-agenda today.

And honestly, it had been a weird experience, to say the least. Not exactly how he'd imagined his first non-self-supplied orgasm would play out. Not, like, even Marianas Trench close. It was like it was some sort of surreal fantasy but it _wasn't._ It was a _memory_.

The fact that Derek had decided to come warm him up had been surprising enough. That he hadn't torn Stiles's throat out when the teenager had pushed the werewolf's hand down over his dick had been even more wild. Now that he really couldn't believe. Because, honestly, Derek mostly liked to slam him into walls and other hard objects in frustration. Maybe he'd bounced Stiles's head against something one-too-many times... since somehow, because Derek's hand had bumped his nipple _once_ , his crazy little brain had convinced itself it was a completely legitimate action to just fucking _do_ things like drag Derek's hand onto his crotch like it belonged there and-,

And now he was thinking about Derek's hand on his dick again. Damnit.

When he glanced up from his desk, he noticed Jackson giving him a really strange look. He paused in his habitual repetitive-pencil-tapping to give him a supercilious look, and Jackson glared and looked away. 

Now there was a boner-killer.

Which. Was kinda odd if you thought about it, because Jackson was pretty. Not as pretty as Derek or Lydia, mind you - though that might just be because of the stupid facial expressions on his stupid face any time he was looking at Stiles. But yeah, no, definitely did not want to fuck Jackson. Ugh. 

Stiles suppressed the urge to giggle like an idiot at the face Jackson would make if he'd shared that train of thought. And that wouldn't help him not get detention either, bursting into laughter in the middle of class. Shit the hour could not go by fast enough.

Post-first-sexual-encounter should _totally_ be a legit reason to skip school.

 

By the time the bell rang for the last class, Stiles was just face-planted against the locker next to Scott's, pretending to nap but really just cooling his forehead on it. Well, until he looked at Scott and then straightened like he hadn't just been concentrating on not having a boner.

Scott was giving him a really funny look. Like he was trying really hard to have an important thought. Not a good idea. Stiles saw his nostrils flare in the automatic habit of scenting the air and _danger Will Robinson_ he scrambled for a topic to distract the boy wonder. 

Stiles hadn't exactly showered since the day before. Of course, he'd overslept not having had a good night's sleep the past few days, which meant he'd had to choose between the shower and breakfast and, well, come _on_ he was seventeen. He needed food.

Plus. Well. Part of him kinda wanted to keep last night on his skin, which, while being fantastic in a slightly creepy way, wasn't exactly helping boner-city since he could smell Derek on his shirt if he turned his nose to his shoulder. Which meant Scott would be able to as well even though he was a few feet away. And that was not fair. Although it wasn't like Scott hadn't told him _immediately_ after he and Allison had - going _way_ too far into TMI territory thank you very much. But it wasn't like Stiles had wolf-ly superpowers and -

"Oh what like you showered then!" he blurted indignantly.

"What?" Scott replied, perplexed.

"What?" Stiles replied instantly, making a face at him. "So where's Allison anyway?" Stiles asked, smirking at his own brilliance when Scott's expression changed completely.

It went straight to frowning.  
"Wait, no, actually where is she?" he asked, frowning in concern as he glanced around the hallway. 

"I don't know. She hasn't been here all day and isn't responding to my texts. Do you know anything?" he said, looking at Stiles suspiciously. He wasn't his best friend for nothing. He could tell that Stiles had been deflecting about _something_.

"What? No. Why would I know about Allison?"

Scott shrugged, then checked his phone again, gnawing on his lip. Then abruptly he looked up at Stiles.

"Why do you smell like Derek?" he demanded.

Stiles blanched, then shrugged. "Uh, you know, was at his house last night," he offered, trying for a casual lean against his locker and failing miserably as usual.

But Scott was already frowning at his phone again, sufficiently distracted by Allison's missingness to buy Stiles's comment. Stiles made a tiny fist-pump of victory which he turned into a head-scratch the instant Scott looked up at him.

The halls were starting to clear and Stiles hefted his backpack.  
"Let me know if you hear anything," he said.

"Yeah," Scott murmured and then waved, heading away to his last class.

One more class. Well. And then practice. But at least getting pummeled would be distracting.

 

Sortof. Fortunately practice had been primarily about conditioning and Stiles hadn't had to sit on the bench with nothing to think about other than his dick. Still, it was almost starting to go dark by the time practice was over and he was starting to come to the conclusion that if he didn't get to masturbate soon, he'd probably just die.

And he definitely skipped the locker room, (because _hell no_ to group showers with a bunch of hot sweaty and disturbingly attractive dudes right now) driving straight home. Which kinda sucked because the sweat on his skin was definitely making him cold as the air cooled sharply in the wake of the disappearing sun. Which just kinda reminded him of last night, shivering in Derek's sort-of-bed.

He sighed with relief as he confirmed that his Dad's cruiser was _not_ in the driveway. After he bolted up the stairs he discarded his bag on the floor of his bedroom and groaned, throwing himself face-down on his bed.

"Oh my god you beautiful thing," he sighed, hugging his bed before he promptly rolled onto his back and scrambled to divest himself of every scrap of his stupid confining clothing and dive back into bed. It was cold enough that he shoved his feet under the covers, but he left his hips bare.  
He was _so_ hard already, and his dick was just begging to be touched, but... he couldn't help but start by brushing his fingers over the center of his chest, rubbing in a slow circle, slowly widening it until his fingers bumped against his nipples and… 

Oh, he shuddered, fingers flicking against the hardening bud. His dick twitched where it lay against his belly, and he scraped one hand down to tease at the tip, pinching his nipple with his other hand as he did so.

What would it be like if Derek had done that? What if he'd pushed Stiles onto his back and shoved his shirt up so that he could close his lips around Stiles's hardened nipple. Stiles groaned as he licked his finger and traced a circle around his nipple, feeling it tighten further in the cool air.

"Ohmygod," he groaned, hand closing around his dick more fully, unable to drag it out any longer. It wasn't long before he had a fast pace going. He pumped his fist roughly, not bothering with any lube or lotion besides the bead of pre-cum welling at the tip, because, well, they hadn't had any last night, and…

That made him think about what he could do with Derek if he _did_ have lube with him, and-,

"Fuck! Fuck!," he cried out, body shaking hard with the pent-up pleasure as well as the vocal freedom of masturbating in an empty house. His come splashed over his bare chest, some even landing as high as his neck. 

He groaned through the last tremors of his orgasm, falling limp on his bed, too tired to bother with continuing the next stage of the masturbate-shower-masturbate plan just yet. In fact when his window slammed open he couldn't even muster the energy to flinch. Well, at least until Derek was climbing through his window with much more grace than Stiles had ever managed. Wait, _Derek_ was-,

"Dude!" he yelped, dragging his sheet over his cum-smeared chest in embarrassment. 

Derek glared at him before glancing around the room and striding to Stiles's bedroom door - which was still hanging open - and oops, hello desperate! That was an amateur move, even if his dad _wasn't_ home and _probably_ wouldn't be for hours.

Derek cocked his head the way he did when he was using his super-wolf-hearing and Stiles tried to wrangle his heartbeat into something resembling steady. Derek, having apparently ascertained that the house was empty, frowned. He strode back and _thankfully_ shut the window on the cold air and then turned to Stiles.

"We need to talk," he said, glancing pensively at the window again. And somehow Stiles didn't think the _talk_ was going to be about the possibility of getting more time with Derek's hands, either. Which was _ridiculous_ considering Derek had just climbed into his bedroom while Stiles was naked except for a sticky layer of fucking _come_

"Dude," Stiles repeated incredulously.

"It's important," Derek growled. 

"Du-,"

"If you say _dude_ one more time, I'm going to hurt you," Derek snapped, jabbing a finger at him.

Stiles sighed, leaning back against the wall next to his bed. "It's always important. All right, what, oh creeper-who-climbs-through-windows-despite-perfectly-good-front-doors?"

Derek scowled. "They're after you. _Again_."

That got his attention. "Wait what? Who?" he demanded. "I thought the Argents killed that, whatever-it-was."

Derek looked at him like he was an idiot and didn't deign to answer. Which, was business as usual really. 

"Oookay, how about _why_? Do we get to answer that? Because I'm pretty stumped here - you know, because I'm just a _human_. Just a mediocre lacrosse player with a jeep and a strong desire not to get dead."

Derek sneered at him pointedly. "And yet you run with us."

Stiles glowered back jabbing a defensive finger in Derek's direction. "Hey, I pull my weight. More than my share I might add, since it seems to be the only way to keep the lot of you from getting yourselves dead at every turn."

Derek's sigh was one of heavy exasperation. "That's exactly my point. You, just-a-human, _run with werewolves_. They think there's more to it than just dumb bravery and insane stubbornness."

"Didn't anyone tell them? It's the Adderall," Stiles retorted. "Seriously that's my superpower."

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles thought he saw just the edge of a smile on Derek's face.

"But that's ridiculous. I'm nothing special. And even if I do _run with werewolves_. It's not like I'm setting a precedent or anything," he argued.

Derek cocked a brow at him, clearly not following his train of thought. And shit, Stiles didn't want to make him, because dead family members? Well _fuck_ that wasn't a happy place… but if he was going to stand in Stiles's bedroom _right after_ and not even give him time to clean up because it was _important_ well then-

But Derek wasn't just looking at his face anymore. His gaze had slipped, ever so slightly down to Stiles's neck which was exposed since the sheet only came up to his armpits. And he _knew_ without even checking that there would be a glossy smear of jizz there if he touched it. And then Derek's gaze dropped to the discarded clothing beside the bed which Stiles hadn't changed out of till now.

He saw Derek's nostrils flare as he scented the air between them. He actually saw the ripple of muscle contractions go down his abdomen as he leaned forward an inch and then froze and whoa _hello_ naked Stiles in his bedroom with _Derek_ who only _just last night_ had fucking given him a hand-job. Derek's eyes flashed red again as his gaze passed over Stiles. Stiles's dick twitched half-heartedly at the sight, letting him know that _just a little more time_ and it'd be ready to go for...

"That explains it," Derek muttered, turning his head to stare out the window, muscles in his jaw working, hands fisting at his sides.

What.  
"Use your words, sourwolf," Stiles prodded - and okay probably a little too snarkily since Derek glared back at him, eyes flashing red momentarily. And _jesus_ he was being quick-to-alpha. Stiles glanced at the sky through his window. The moon was definitely on the full side.

"I heard you _cry out_ from down the street. So I _hurried_. Because for some strange reason I didn't want you to die or be kidnapped."

And whoa. That was nice, actually. But, since when did Derek need to deliver this sort of news in person in the middle of the night anyway. Ok, not that it'd stopped him before but a text was faster.  
He gulped. 

"I'm fine," he managed.

But Derek was already looking at something else. And this time it pulled his full attention and had him striding to Stiles's desk.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, pointing roughly at a small stack of worn and leather-bound books. He didn't touch them, but his eyes went red in a flash. 

"What? They're just-," Stiles grimaced, tugging his sheet loose from his bed so he could come over. He tripped anyway, landing in a tangle of limbs and sheet and probably his bare ass. "Ow," he groaned, and jerked the sheet the rest of the way off the bed. Fortunately Derek was looking away when he righted himself. Actually, like, staring at the wall which probably meant… Stiles sighed. Holding the rumpled fabric around his waist he moved closer to grab the book on the top of the pile and flip it open. 

"They're just books, old books. I've been keeping an eye out for anything I can get my hands on about the supernatural. That bestiary that the Argents had was useful, and it's not like we're ever _not_ going to want information. I mean, it's not like I can read archaic Latin like _some_ people, but that doesn't mean I can't learn as much as possible."

"But it's just junk, I haven't found anything good yet about any of our known beasties," he said, tossing the book back down on the table.

Derek just looked pained. 

"What?"

"It's not junk."

"What?" Stiles demanded, mouth hanging open. Then he scrambled for the book again and flipped it open. Not that he could read most of it. Plus a lot of it was just symbols and…  
Oh.  
Lots of symbols. And. Like, recipes. Being the cook in the household meant he recognized an ingredient list no matter the language. But he didn't really think these _River's mystery meals_ were the _mmm what's for dinner_ kinds of recipes. 

"Shit, shit! You. Why didn't you tell me?"

Derek was just looking at him with his usual grim and inscrutable face.

"Magic?" Stiles squeaked.

Derek frowned even further. "You can see it?"

"What?"

"Whatever's on the page. You can see it?"

Stiles gaped at him. He shoved the book towards Derek but the werewolf flinched away from taking it. 

"I _can't_ ," he said gruffly, stepping back from the book. 

Stiles shut the book and shoved it back down on the desk, backing away quickly enough that he stumbled in the tangled sheets behind him and sat in a huff on the floor.

"But, that's like a werewolf thing? The no-touchy-magic-book, right? Like, Allison would be able to read it… right?" he said hopefully, looking up at the looming alpha with wide eyes, trailing off when Derek's glower increased in ferocity.

"Oh shit."

Derek made a huff of agreement, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Stiles like it was his fault.

"Shit, shit, shit," Stiles said, staring at him. And then added for good measure, "what the _shit_?"

"But how di-,"

"I don't know," Derek said.

"But how ma-,"

"I don't _know_ ," he growled, striding away to glare out the window. Or check out the window for bad-guys because - whoa this someone's-out-to-get-Stiles shit just got a lot more valid.

Stiles makes a sound that's like a cross between a gurgle and a whimper, collapsing back against the side of his bed.

"So-long good-night's rest," he mutters.

Derek grunted in something like agreement.

There was a long silence. Derek didn't seem to have any more to say on the _magic_ subject… and even if Stiles was brimming with questions, that wasn't the only thing he had questions about. 

Eventually Stiles screwed up his courage and began, "So. Slight change of topic then. Um. About last night…" 

Derek froze.  
Stiles fumbled for words. "I, uh. I really...,"

Derek was still staring at him, now looking more like a deer caught in the headlights than like a wolf.

Stiles offered a shaky smile. "It was… I liked-," 

And then abruptly, Derek was striding away and yanking the window open again.

"Wait, where are you going?" Stiles blurted as Derek slipped one long leg out the window. He scrambled to his feet, dragging the sheet with him as he followed Derek to the window. "I thought something was after me?"

"I'm going to stand guard," Derek said tightly.

"What? Outside? It's freezing," Stiles said, proving his point by shuddering as a blast of cool air hit his bare chest.

Derek turned and tried to make a supercilious face at him but it stalled when he realized how close Stiles was. His nostrils flared again and his gaze flicked down to Stiles's neck again and-,

"Look, we're going to have to talk about it someti-," Stiles squawked as Derek's hand closed on the back of his head, jerking him forward. The Alpha's face tilted down beside his, breath hot against Stiles's ear and then _ohmygod_ Derek's breath ran over the cooling wet-patch on Stiles's neck. The hand on the back of his head was like a vise and another one was gripping his waist just as hard. The alpha was almost panting against his neck and Stiles knew he was quivering and then Derek's tongue was touching his neck and then it was -

 

Gone. And Stiles was standing naked at his open window as Derek strode off the slope of his roof and leapt down out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where I'm going with this story but I'm fairly certain there will be more sex in its future.

Magic. 

Stiles. Was. Fucking. Magic. 

Er, well, he wasn't fucking magic. Mr. Irving Johnson was, after all, nowhere near him. 

HOLYBATMANMAGIC! 

He was sitting on his bedroom floor, elbows propped on splayed knees, hunched over the book in question. Boxers had been yanked on at some point since the whole tripping-over-his-sheets thing was getting old. 

The book wasn't ancient looking or magic looking. Ok, sure, it had a leather cover and there were a couple symbols pressed into the leather that didn't exactly look normal… but they just looked kinda artsy or whatever. He tried sniffing the air but his lack of werewolf-mojo meant he just smelled the faintest hints of leather and dusty paper. Well, and himself. 

His breathing rate was steadily increasing as his fingers wriggled in the air above the book. Slowly, oh so slowly he inched his hand to touch the cover and-, 

Ok. 

Yeah. Nothing. 

"It's just a fucking book, isn't it. You're just fucking with me," he says like Derek isn't long-gone out of his window. Though his super-wolfly hearing meant he could probably hear Stiles anyway. 

Which-, 

"Ooh, I bet you're totally listening right now, just in case something breaks in from the side of the house you're not watching." 

He sat for a moment, confessions and jokes all fighting for their spot on the unfiltered-brain-to-mouth-highway before one won out. 

"Have I mentioned lately that you're a giant creeper? Because you are. I mean. I know you're not a normal human being by any stretch of the imagination, but even werewolves know how to use phones. You know how to use phones. But you don't. And that's what makes you a creeper. Well, and the whole _lurking outside my bedroom window_ thing." 

Which holy hell, Derek _had_ been doing. While he'd masturbated. Beat the meat. Played monkey with his wrench. 

"Seriously do you get off on that stuff?" he blurted before he could stop himself. At least he choked off the second part of the sentence which would have been a humiliating _because I sure as fuck did_. 

His phone vibrated and he scrambled for it, knocking it off his desk before sprawling on the floor as though that had been his plan after all and reading the message upside down. 

It was only two words so, no biggie. 

_**Shut up**_

He rolled his eyes. 

"Whatever, you like it," he announced to the room, though he did quiet down, since Derek was probably right. 

He imagined Derek considering another text of annoyance, and then probably rolling his eyes and stuffing his phone back in his pocket indignantly. That pocket that sits so perfectly against the trim curve of his-, 

Stiles cleared his throat and focused back on the book. 

He'd get someone _normal_ to look at it. Neither Allison nor Lydia could be trusted to be normal at this point. Danny would never let him leave it at face value. 

Shantal, he decided. She would give it to him straight and then not harass him for answers. As she was fond of saying, she didn't have time for anyone's bullshit - too busy becoming the first chair violinist in her youth orchestra. 

Dilemma dealt with, Stiles stood back from the book, unwilling to explore further till he'd verified the fundamental assumption involved. 

Besides, it was getting late. He decided he'd take a shower and then go to sleep. And try not to think about the magic. Or the thing that they needed to talk about eventually. Or the werewolf stubbornly standing guard on him. Outside his empty house where he was... alone. And... 

And who was he kidding. He'd be naked, in the hot shower, washing his come off his body. Since he hadn't been able to manage it all day, there was no reason to think he'd be able to avoid thinking about the guy whose surprising and gentle touch had gotten him off the night before, whose tongue had just been on his skin, who had almost licked his-, 

His dick twitched in interest and he groaned in frustration, marching for the door towards the bathroom with renewed determination. And then blushed at the thought of Derek listening to him as he came. Dick , the traitor, (no he didn't _name_ it 'dick'. Naming your dick was just fucking weird) responded favorably to the thought, deeming embarrassment irrelevant. He cursed under his breath even as a wicked grin stole over his mouth, arousal beating out embarrassment once again. 

Well. If sourwolf wanted to eavesdrop, then maybe he'd just have to be vocal in his pleasure when he and his hand went for round two of the yes-I'm-a-horny-teenager variety show. 

Because HELLO, empty house! 

Not that he was considering playing the boy who cried wolf (however accidentally and/or literally) again and summoning his protector to his very-naked side. Really. Much at all. Ok, just as a fantasy. And if it accidentally happened, total plausible deniability. 

He was a teenager after all. That excuse had to be good for _something_ , right? 

It didn't matter. The hot shower, the excitement and actually-plausible fantasy were enough to have him moaning loud despite whatever intentions he might have had otherwise. And if he maybe slipped a hand down his backside and pressed a fingertip between those actually-they're-pretty-toned-thank-you-very-much ass-cheeks... and then, you know, pushed it _inside_ himself as he stroked his dick under the beating water... It wasn't like he was 

Oh for fuck's sake, of _course_ he was imagining Derek doing it, of taking his sexual experience to the next level. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about the sensations, but the thought of _Derek_ being the one to explore his body, of pressing into him... yeah. That might be the hottest thing Stiles had ever imagined. 

He turned to lean his forehead against the cool tile, letting the hot water cascade over his back. He couldn't resist running with it. His finger pressed against the hot and smooth skin just inside his hole, pumping just the slightest bit as he worked his other hand over his cock, imagining that it was Derek's finger inside him. Pretending that the heat of the shower on his back was _Derek's_ heat, pressed naked against him. Watching Stiles as he jerked off, fucking his finger into him in time with Stiles's hand, egging him on so that Stiles's hand moved faster and faster over his length so that Derek would fuck him faster and faster with that broad finger. No, with two. Stiles felt certain that Derek wouldn't be satisfied with just the one, that he'd blow past comfort in pursuit of sensation. Stiles groaned again as he nudged a second finger at his entrance despite the awkward angle. He was so hard and so overwhelmed by the fact that it might actually be a _plausible_ fantasy. And fuck if he'd settle for fingers after all. Derek would just growl and push Stiles against the wall and fuck him all the way, just spreading him apart and pounding into him and filling him up like nothing he'd ever felt, all hard and rough and-, 

" _Derek_ ," he groaned out, face pressed haphazardly against the tile, body clenching hard around the fingers inside him and legs shaking as his release crested and he  
splashed himself against the wall. He sagged against the wall bonelessly for a few long moments before straightening and turning back into the spray. He was still breathing hard as he turned off the shower and swiped half-heartedly over himself with a towel. 

When he got back to his room, he checked his phone out of habit more than out of any real expectation that there would be another message. But there was. 

All it said was: 

_**Stiles**_

He was torn between giddy laughter and face-burning embarrassment. Fantasies were one thing. But when the object of your fantasies was actually outside your house... Oh wow. And what had he _considered_ writing? _Stiles you'd better not be getting killed_ or _Stiles stop it I can hear you_ or maybe even _Stiles if you don't stop that I'm coming in there and giving you something really worth moaning about_. 

Oh god if that were true... 

Could he text him back? He flopped onto his bed and stared at the glowing screen in his hands, held over his face with straight arms as he considered. Then again, it was basically a fundamental right to text a guy who'd fucking given you a hand-job. At least _one_ text, right? 

He agonized over the response for a few moments, kicking his heels against the bed as he grumbled under his breath, possible options flitting through his mind and being dismissed just as quickly. 

Then finally he just decided on the simple, mockingly terse; 

_**Derek**_

It wasn't until half an hour later when he was just about to fall asleep that he realized that Derek's text might very well have been a reply already. To what he'd moaned in the shower right as he'd come. 

" _Derek_ " 

"He said my name," Stiles whispered to himself. He couldn't resist pondering what Derek would sound like _moaning_ his name... and exactly how could he make that shit happen? Despite his best efforts, his dick still twitched at the thought, starting to harden unbidden, ready for round three. He groaned and rolled over on the bed, squashing his face into the pillow. 

God fucking damn it he was so done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am toying around with some ideas for what to do next, but I am also open to suggestions...


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Derek got home he was actually shaking. He couldn't blame the chill, since he'd turned the heat on in the car for the drive back out to the woods. Nor the dawn light peeking through the trees - he'd spent plenty of long nights awake. Countless, really.

He didn’t really want to think about the real reason. But he couldn't _stop_ thinking about it, which was part of the problem.

He _had_ been listening. To every word. Every groan and gasp and murmur. At his name on Stiles's lips. _His_ name. He'd huddled in the shadows beneath the eaves of a dormer on the roof, struggling to control the wild response that welled up inside him at every sigh.

And he only had himself to blame. Stiles had never cried out his name like that before _the other night_. At least he assumed not. He hadn't exactly been there to listen for all of Stiles's wank sessions - though significantly more than he would ever admit. What if...

No. He couldn't go down that road. Last night - had it really only been last night? Last night had been a mistake. A crazy fluke. A completely idiotic random but natural expression of the human animal that reacted to proximity and body heat and…

Stiles was probably too young to know any better. 

He wouldn't put Stiles through that, through the pain that being with Derek would inevitably bring no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. It didn't matter that Derek _wanted_ him. That wasn't the point. Plenty of people wanted Stiles, or would want Stiles once they realized that there were things more precious than what their magazines and tv shows sold them. He'd have other options. There was no need for Derek to get in the way of that. No need for him to tarnish his early sex life further. 

He stomped his way into the burnt-out house. It hadn't seemed so desiccated before he'd seen Stiles in it, looking cold and alone and without even the barest of comforts. When it had just been him, living like an omega, alone, at minimums of survival, he'd seen only the memories of a warm bustling home. In the burnt-out remains, nothing but the well-deserved reminders that he was to blame for it all. 

But things had changed. He had a _pack_ now, fledgling as it was. He had people he cared about, people who needed his protection. Who needed somewhere safe to land. If Erica's mom got a new boyfriend as bad as the last. If Isaac got turned down in his petition for emancipation. If Stiles needed a place to hide.

And maybe the others weren't as likely to need a safe place to run to, maybe Boyd had his family and Scott had Allison, but for a moment, staring at the big hall, he saw flickers of a room full of people, happy, tossing popcorn at each other as they piled onto each other to watch a movie together.

What if…

But then again, it was his fault the whole thing was gone in the first place.

Trying to shake it off, he marched into his living room on habit, ready to throw himself down on his 'bed' and get what sleep he could. But instead he froze. Stared down at the dusty mattress on the floor. He tried to ignore the way his dick reacted to the sight of it, to the memory of all that heat and energy and life that had been shivering in his arms, under his hands. He should just sleep on the couch, but his self-restraint had worn thin after hours of having all that and more, moaning his name, just out of reach. 

He knelt heavily, then leaned forward to lay down on the mattress, stretching his taut body over where Stiles had lain, pressing his nose close to the faded fabric and inhaled, picking up the faint scent of the young man. His hips rocked forward involuntarily, pressing the bump of his seemingly ever-present erection firmly against the bed. It was too much. Resisting Stiles elsewhere was difficult but doable. Having his scent right in the heart of Derek's territory? It sent his instincts raging.

"Fuck," he groaned, rolling onto his back. He yanked ruthlessly at his jeans and underwear until his cock was freed, cursing at the sharp contrast of heated flesh with cool air. The scent of him. The taste of him, the _taste_ of his skin, his _come_ , tart and bitter and raw with sex. With the recent memories rushing through his mind, it almost seemed like it hardly took more than a few rough strokes before he was tensing against an impending orgasm. He pressed his other palm in a hard swipe over the tip of his cock and gritted his teeth against the impulse to cry out as he spilled himself into his hand, shuddering hard. 

He curled onto his side, feeling the weight of the loneliness and silence come crashing into him in the comedown. No euphoric satisfaction, just the end of an unbearable tension. For a long moment he glared at the dirty and worn mattress beneath him, then he deliberately wiped his hand on it.

He'd get a proper bed. If only as a way to take care of his pack.

 

He slept some then. Not much, because he'd never been able to sleep well without his pack around him, and especially not when there were outsiders in town, sending _things_ after his pack. In the heavy weight of the dull afternoon light and thick clouds, he roamed the city, driving from place to place with the windows down, letting his senses loose to test the air.

It's not exactly a perfect method. Not by a long shot, but it's better than sitting in the dark waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was definitely something wrong. Although everyone was going about their days in the usual fashion, seemingly fine, there's something off in the air. The hunters were out too. He spotted more than one dark SUV doing the same thing he was - well, minus the enhanced senses of course. 

They made all the difference. His search led him eventually to one of the city's more-or-less neglected parks. If he'd been searching with Stiles or Scott or any of the bitten wolves, they would have nagged him with questions about why he was stopping here. But as a born wolf he knew to trust his instincts a dozen times over. He parked and slipped out of the Camaro, turning slowly in the chill breeze, scenting the air, letting his senses spread. Since they'd demolished the elementary school nearby to build a newer, better one closer to the city center, the park had fallen into dis-use. The leaves from the trees that wove through it littered the ground unchecked.

He preferred it this way, actually. More like the wilderness. Though the garbage that got left behind wasn't good. He picked up a crumbled old fry-container sitting on the ground and carried it to the bin, disposing of it with an annoyed shove before making his way into the park proper. 

He walks for a while, meandering along the paths, just listening, feeling the rhythm of the park. Something is definitely off here, but it's residual. Not active. Eventually he comes to a span of gravel near a rusted see-saw. In the middle of the grey rocks is a smudge of black. He feels his hackles rising as he draws nearer to it.

Whatever shapes had been on the ground have been distorted by rough kicks of gravel, but the greasy black ash is evidence enough of the insidious. He crouched beside it and took a few short sniffs.

It mostly smelled like charcoal, but there was the sickly smell of burnt blood there too, under the tang of herbs. He couldn't tell what sort of blood it was, but it's not like it would be good either way.

He snapped a photo with his phone and sent it along to Stiles with a terse message. He grimaced in frustration at himself when he felt the urge to go find him when he didn't get an immediate response. He glanced at the sun in the sky, checking its position behind the clouds. He was probably at lacrosse practice. Scott and Isaac and Boyd would be plenty of muscle, even if Erica didn't show up to add her protection to the mix. 

He stayed there until he felt confident that he could recognize the scent and has teased apart everything he's going to be able to sense. Then he resumed his prowling of the city, primed for something specific this time. It doesn't pan out. The Hunter presence seemed to thicken as the sky dimmed, so he stopped leaving himself open to attention and left the vicinity, driving out to the interstate to eat in the corner of the greasy diner he favored because so few people from Beacon Hills actually stopped there.

Midway through his meal his phone buzzed.

_**You really think that's about me?** _

Derek frowned at the phone before typing a terse _**Yes**_ in response. Though he had no idea what was going on now, there had been no mistaking the fact that the first thing the unknown assailants had sent had trailed Stiles by scent, had waited for him in his jeep. Only Scott's quick thinking and Allison's portable crossbow had saved him. Scott had been certain, and the Betas had confirmed, that the sickly scent of the monster had been all over Stiles's locker and lacrosse gear, but not on anyone else's.

_**Shit** _

It made him furious to think that they had come so close to losing to a surprise attack on school property, on home turf. He'd remember this the next time he thought about skipping a patrol. He glared at the remaining bits of burger and fries and then slipped out of the booth, dropping some bills on the table as he strode back out of the diner and fired up the car again.

The night in Beacon Hills was his home, his domain. Neither hunters nor unknown adversaries would keep him from roaming his territory. He drove a slow spiral through the city, but nothing came to the forefront other than a vague sense of trespassing that might well just be a symptom of days of hypervigilance.

Eventually he gave in and let his instincts lead him back to Stiles, back to the Stilinski home. Yes, keeping watch over the house was ostensibly a good enough reason to be there… Except that didn't really work as a complete explanation because he'd kept watch the night before. One of his betas should really be taking this shift if that was all there was to it.

It didn't matter. Not now anyway since he'd already parked the car down a side street and slipped down the backyards of the neighborhood. He'd hopped the fence and checked to make sure that the locals weren't watching, then climbed up the back of the house and over the curve of the roof as usual. Though unlike most times where he would tuck himself under the shadow of the dormer out of sight, this time he continued closer to where he could see into the teenager's room.

He didn't even bother to tell himself the lie that he was just checking on him for his safety, making sure everything was all right. He knew he wanted to _see_ him. And if he also caught a glimpse of him sleeping, all that bare skin and open throat… 

But this time Stiles was sitting in his desk chair, clad only in his boxers, typing away at his computer. Sort-of. He was actually kind-of clicking lazily with one hand while the other was slung over the back of his chair, leaving Derek with a clear view of his trim body all angled open. Derek watched a few minutes, unable to stop himself from cataloguing the way his lanky muscles stretched with each breath, or the spread of moles that dotted his skin. He found himself transfixed by the one over his right nipple as it rose and fell with each steady breath, the way the skin of his chest and throat seemed a little flushed. Then after a bit, Stiles stopped clicking and leaned fully back into his chair, eyes fixed on the screen. He bit his lip, and then his mouth spread into a slow smile, lashes sweeping down over his cheeks as he settled in to watch.

Derek inched closer, but given the angle of the screen he couldn't see what was on there that had Stiles's attention so firmly. He frowned, almost ready to open the window and announce his presence. But his action was interrupted when Stiles's hand strayed over from where it had come to rest on his thigh, moving in a slow, steady motion over his crotch. He gave himself one long stroke through the thin fabric, thumb riding along after his other fingers to knuckle against his lap. 

Unmistakably a sexual touch.

Derek should go. Or move back and make some noise and approach, signal his presence. Or text him. Anything. He knew he should. Instead he found himself crouching in the dark, watching the unexpected display. Stiles tipped his head back on a sigh as he moved his hand again, ribbing his knuckles along his groin, shifting his hips in the chair. Derek couldn't do anything but stare at the long column of bared skin, the way the veins pulsed in Stiles's throat as he sighed. Then he tipped his head back down and fixed his gaze back on the screen with parted lips and bright eyes.

Derek didn't need to see it to know what was on there anymore. Though... he wondered. About what Stiles watched. Whether it was nubile redheaded women or dark-haired men. Or none of the above.

Derek was transfixed, watching the slow motion of Stiles's cupped palm rubbing over his steadily-growing length, sitting against his thigh. The tip was peeking out of the rucked bottom of his shorts now, the ridge hard and long along his inner thigh. He should go. He should leave Stiles his privacy or announce himself or...

Abruptly the teen pulled the waistband of his boxers down, cock springing free in an obscene and delicious motion that had Derek's throat tightening. He tucked the elastic under his balls, nestling them over the cloth as though to put them on display as he stroked those long angular fingers along them. Ever so slowly he ran the tip of his index finger up the underside of his dick where it lay against his hip, dragging the pad over the slit of the head, gathering the bead of pre-cum that was glistening there.

He repeated the motion, even slower than the last time, body flexing against the sensation. He licked his lip as he tipped his head back, hips rolling up against his hand, but he kept his fingers taut, only giving himself the slightest touches. He flicked and nudged at the hard length of himself, sighing in shuddering breaths that end on feral grins.

Derek had no idea how much of a tease Stiles could be. He'd thought, given the way things had gone the last two nights, that Stiles would be straight and to the point, just like Derek was. But now he realized that his speed, his focus had been more about his desperation than anything else. Now that he had time, it seemed Stiles was more than happy to take every moment of it.

Derek realized he was almost dizzy with holding his breath. He sat. It wasn't like he was going to leave. There was no point in crouching on the roof pretending that he was about to go. The weight of taking advantage of the situation didn't outweigh the desperate attraction pulling in his chest. The shift of too-tight jeans over his hips had him gritting his teeth. No one ever called him a hero, after all. Sir Galahad he was not.

Stiles curled his hand around his length, squeezing slowly as he rolled his erection against his palm. He let himself go, cock bobbing in the air a moment as he rotated his hand over his dick to grip it in the other direction, pulling it taut at an angle. His slim, angular fingers stretched and danced as he curled them around himself again, the muscles and tendons in his forearm went taut as he twisted. His chest flexed as he rolled his hand again. The flush on his skin, over his nipples and throat was unmistakable now. 

Abruptly Derek heard a low groan from the computer and Stiles bit his lip on an answering moan, hands tightening spasmodically on his skin. He started sliding his hand in long strokes over his length, getting down to business finally. His free hand got splayed across his solar plexus, fingertips nudging along the underside of the oval of his areola. 

Derek could hear the faint increase in moans coming from the video and watched Stiles respond, tightening his hand and shortening his strokes, gripping more at the head of his cock as his wrist flexed and rolled. The muscles in his arm grew taut, flexing perpetually at the fast pace. Derek could hear the pounding of his heart when he concentrated, but that just made everything worse. He could hear the slick and pull of his dampened palm, hear the hitching breaths. Derek watched, completely enthralled as Stiles's pace increased, lips working over a low string of bitten-off curses, abs flexing with stuttering pulses. Derek could almost feel how close he was. Could almost taste it.

"Fuck," Stiles spat, tipping his head back as his body went rigid, hand jerking erratically on his gasp as he came. He moaned through each spurt that spread over his chest, each body-bowing flex of the orgasm. Stiles let out a low, satisfied moan as he sat back against the aftershocks of the release. Derek had to bite his tongue not to let out a responding possessive growl. 

After a moment Stiles leaned forward to hit pause on the computer, heaving out a sigh as he sat back again, dragging slow supplemental strokes over his still-hard length. He traced lazy fingers through the slick trails on his chest, teased the now-hard buds of his nipple, eyes fluttering shut as he savored the comedown. 

After a little while his heart-rate was slower than Derek's, who was still gripping the roof-tile beneath his hand hard enough to crack the corner. Stiles stretched his arms over his head with a yawn, then stood. He kicked his way out of his boxers, tossed them in the laundry basket, leaving the taut span of his backside fully visible to Derek. Then he cracked his door open, listened a moment just to be sure he was still alone in the house, then slipped out, presumably heading for the bathroom. 

Derek hesitated only a moment before slipping across the bay of the window and getting a vantage on the screen. He bit off a curse when he saw that it was indeed a man. His fingers gripped hard on the window frame as he growled back the surge of jealousy that washed through him. But then the emotion faded as he took in the image in detail. The man was dark-haired and broad, face rough with stubble, fit and angular, hand fisted around his cock. Stiles had masturbated to this man touching himself. It was as though he'd masturbated _with_ him. With a man who resembled…

Derek found his own hand drifting towards his crotch, pushing at the taut bulge he was sporting. He ran a hard hand over himself, but then the screen blackened with power-saving efficiency. Derek was startled out of his trance as he heard the hiss of the shower turning on.

He wasn't here to masturbate outside Stiles's window. He was here to protect him. He grit his teeth and shoved himself upright, striding away along the roof-line till he reached a place he could hide. He stayed there, totally in the shadow, unable to see Stiles's room but able to guard against any approaches. He waited until the hardness in his groin faded, till he could concentrate on the sounds of the evening instead of the sound of the shower. He had a job to do, listening for enemies. He focused outward until he didn't even notice when the water cut out.

Some minutes later in the silence his phone vibrated in his pocket and he jerked, senses tumbling back to himself. He pulled it out and stared at the screen incredulously. The message was from Stiles. He was hardly certain whether or not he found that information surprising anymore. After a moment's hesitation he opened it.

_**You could have come in you know** _

He sagged back against the wall heavily. He'd known? Stiles had _known_ he had been watching. Along with the fear at being found, the rush of desire at the invitation, that knowledge sent a wash of relief through him. Knowing that Stiles could have objected, had _chosen_ to continue. At least that particular wrong wasn't going to have to hang around his neck with all the others. 

_**Just FYI** _

 

Derek closed his eyes and curled harder into the crook of the overhang.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I totally switched to present tense. But I can't write in past tense anymore since everything else I'm writing is in present tense. And I feel like Stiles should be written in present tense anyway...

The next day Stiles wakes feeling strange. His head aches and he just feels a little… strange. 

He could just write it off as too much masturbation, because yeah, the thought of Derek deliberately watching him jerk off… well. It vaguely resembles progress towards them having actual sexy-time again at some point, which is more than enough to have his hands straying downwards again during the night, not even counting the unexpectedly potent thrill he'd gotten from the exhibitionism. 

He still can't believe he'd done that. That he'd completely thrown caution to the wind and run that slow hand over his groin like he was alone, even though he'd _clearly_ heard Derek climbing onto the roof. Of course, somewhere around 2 am, just as he was finally dozing off, he'd jolted up in a panic, realizing that he'd only _assumed_ it had been Derek. Which had meant Derek might have received some very odd text messages… and of course someone else might have gotten an eyeful. But yeah, no, the messages were what had worried him. So despite the hour, he'd kicked his way free of his sheets and fumbled his way over to his phone flicking through his sent messages about ready to hyperventilate and -

Totally innocuous. If it hadn't been Derek up there on the roof, if he hadn't been there to understand the invitation in its fullest extent, then no problem. He'd sighed with heavy relief and tumbled himself back into bed, falling asleep finally not much later.

All of that _could_ explain the funny feeling he has when he stumbles out of bed, but he's pretty sure it doesn't - at least not the whole story. Plus there is the fact that when he wanders over to his desk and nearer the book again, the strange feeling intensifies. Like a lot. Yeah it's probably a fucking terrible idea to reach out despite the bad feeling but as is _clearly_ apparent from his behavior the night before, he is full of terrible ideas. 

So he pushes through the veil of foreboding hovering around the book and extends his fingers out till they brush against the leather. The instant he touches it, it's like a bolt of electricity is shooting through him, tingling and burning up his arm and spiking up to his head. He crumbles back away from the freaky thing with a yelp, scooting back against his bed on the floor. Clutching his tingling hand to his chest he stares, heart pounding a mile a minute as he waits for the other shoe to drop. For the book to release some demon thing or magic attack or zombies or something else he hasn't imagined yet. But nothing else happens. 

He sits there, staring at it for a long time, till the tingling in his fingers has faded completely. After a few minutes it starts to seem like a huge overreaction. It had just been a spark, after all. He considers texting Derek about it, but he isn't willing to freak out over something that could very well just be static discharge. At least not in front of someone else. Besides, he still has to show it to Chantal before he's willing to decide there is really anything to this whole magic book thing. Someone normal. Whatever the hell that means. So he picks himself up and goes back to his morning routine, putting the book firmly from his mind for the rest of the day.

The strange feeling doesn't return for a while, nor does any ominous feeling around the book. Not that he does anything with it. Except stare at it kind-of intently a few times. He doesn't see Derek for another few days, either, leaving him time to spend way too many hours searching for vague search terms like "ritual" and "blood" and "ash" which ends up yielding a strange mix of "holy christian rituals" that are actually super creepy and a plethora of random speculations from any and all sorts of fringe fanatics. Nothing that really resembles the smudged sooty image Derek had sent his way. 

After a few days of fruitless searches and building annoyance at his cowardice, he musters up his courage to actively interact with the book again. He hasn't worked up the nerve to touch the book again for a few days since that first hard shock. But the strange feeling has passed, no more headache or vague air of weird, and when he finally sucks in his breath and wiggles his fingers closer to it on Friday morning, there is nothing odd in the air. When he touches it, nothing happens besides a faint tingling, probably just from too much anticipatory tension. He groans at himself in frustration and then jams it in his bag and gets dressed in a hurry then, determined to test the thing out on someone normal and actually _do_ something other than freak out about it. 

By the time he's halfway through the day, however, he's feeling distinctly jittery. Then again, it isn't like any sane person would expect him to concentrate on chemistry when he has a fucking magic book in his backpack and werewolves as classmates. Between the occasional phantom tingling in his fingertips, the persistent thoughts of new and/or improved sexual fantasies involving Derek, and the way Scott keeps anxiously checking his phone every five seconds...

Which.

He leans over his workstation to poke Scott with his pen and raises his eyebrows, glancing significantly at the phone.

"Allison," Scott mouths.

"Still can't reach her?" Stiles whispers back.

Scott shakes his head.

But when Harris eyes them, he sits back on his stool, feigning nonchalance and avoiding the teacher's gaze in the hopes that he won't turn his insane wrath on Stiles again. He makes sure to sit submissively - genuinely and not mockingly so, though it goes against his grain to do so.

It used to be he'd respond to Harris with either belligerence or grim self-righteous resignation. Now, though, ever since one class a couple months ago, when Harris had been giving him too hard a time while leaning over him into his personal space - as usual - and Scott had been nearby...

Well, the look on Scott's face had been horrible and priceless and disturbing. He'd sat through the rest of class looking like he was going to be sick and refusing to meet either Stiles's or Harris's eyes. Then after class Stiles had finally gotten it out of him. As it turned out, Scott had smelled _arousal_ on their teacher when he'd stood behind Stiles, haranguing him over whatever imagined slip-up he'd chosen for the day. Really, really strong sexual arousal, Scott had said. Like. Ugh.

And ever since, Stiles is more than happy to cower away from the guy now lest he get assigned detention again. He could fend him off, sure - he has faced way scarier things than a deranged teacher, after all. But that is definitely not a memory he wants to ever _ever_ actually have.

There are other memories he would much rather have. Much, much rather. Ones preferably involving certain dark brooding werewolves - or maybe elegant redheads. Though the dark and brooding thing is totally doing it for him lately. Like. Overwhelmingly so.

When they slip out into the hall after class, Scott is already on his phone again, getting ready to call Allison for about the eleventy-billionth time. Stiles scrunches up his face as he watches him, then sighs heavily. No point in delaying any longer. He digs through his bag to find the old leather-bound book, hesitating only a moment before putting his hand on it. Nothing, again. 

"Here, hold this," Stiles says nonchalantly as he holds out the book. 

Scott, ever the helpful friend, reaches for it automatically, but when his hand comes into contact he yelps and jerks it back, a little blue spark of electricity arcing between the leather and his skin. The book hits the ground with a resounding thump, mostly muffled by the bustle of their peers in the hallway.

"Holy shit," Stiles mutters.

"What the hell, dude?" Scott blurts, curling his hand tight under his shirt to hide the claws that have started to push out in response to the book. Fortunately nobody seems to be looking. 

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes and an incredulous grin. "It was for science," he replies, snatching the book up off the floor. He shoves it back in his bag and zips it shut when he catches sight of Chantal passing by. "Gotta run," he adds, then darts away into the crowd of students, chasing after one in particular with her newly-decorated braids and flashy dress making her thankfully easy to follow.

"Chantal," he calls. The young woman doesn't slow, and as he wiggles his way through the crowd he sees the hot-pink cables running from her ears and sighs. Figures, given that music is kind-of her thing. Finally he pulls even with her and touches a hand to her arm just as she is about to open the door to the school's parking lot.

"Oh hey," she says with an easy smile, tugging one earbud free. "You leaving early too?"

Stiles shakes his head. "No, I-,"

"Oh. Well my ride is waiting," she says, pushing through the doors without waiting for him to finish speaking. He follows her out, tugging his backpack awkwardly over to his chest and flapping his arm over it so he can get the necessary tension to open the zipper again.

"I just need to ask you something," he says as he tries not to fall down the steps beside her.

"Okay...," she replies with a speculative eyebrow and a cocked wrist, pausing to wait for him to get the bag open. She turns to glance over at her ride and waggle her fingers as he pulls the book out.

"Just. Here," he says, fumbling to get the book open to a useful page.

"You sure you're not leaving early? I sure would...," she murmurs, a salacious tone edging into her voice.

He looks up, confused, holding the book open for her. "What?"

But she isn't looking at him at all. She's settling a hand on her hip, making a mildly-flirtatious face across the parking lot. He follows her gaze over till it lands on his jeep. His very not-alone jeep. She flutters her fingers again. Derek just stands there, arms crossed, still leaning against the wheel-well, staring back at them. 

At him, actually.

Stiles swallows, abruptly reconsidering the whole skipping-class thing.

"What is this?" she asks. He jerks his gaze back from Derek, clearing his throat roughly and looking down at the page in question which Chantal is now perusing.

"What do you see? I mean, do you recognize anything?"

"Recognize anything? Honey, you need to get your eyes checked," she says, turning away and shaking her head. "There's nothing on the page. You got some secret invisible ink you're testing or something?"

"Uhhh," he says helpfully, flipping the book back around to himself. No, the page isn't blank at all. It is covered in neat lists and squiggly letters that feel like _something_ but nothing he can actually read.

"I gotta go. See you later," she says, walking away towards the car that pulled up in front of them.

He stares dumbly after her for a minute, then shrugs his backpack back over his shoulder, closing the book in his hand. After a glance back at the school he snorts and starts walking towards his jeep. Yeah. He was probably going to be leaving early. Finding Derek near the high school is never a good sign. 

Unless... 

Unless Derek isn't here for anything usual at all, if he's actually here for Stiles. Which could totally be happening. Of course, he promptly trips over the curb, flailing wildly to stay upright while stumbling down into the parking lot. Yeah, he thinks with a stifled groan of embarrassment, that slab of man-wolf _totally_ wants a piece of this.

Except. He kinda does. Derek has seen Stiles in every awkward, derpy position and facial expression imaginable and _still_ he'd put his hands on-

"Hi," he says a little too cheerfully. He should have gone for cool. Not that that was really in his playbook, exactly. But it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

Derek just looks at him with a pained expression, eschewing the obviously unnecessary greeting as he often does. Which sortof annoys Stiles. He might have literally been raised by wolves but the guy could at least say hi, right? 

Stiles tilts his head. "Ookay. Um. So, what's going on? I still have some classes to get through so if you're here for a booty-call it's gonna have to wait," he says gesturing with the book back at the school. And he really needs to get a handle on his tongue because he had not meant to say that. Because not only had he been fully intending on avoiding the topic entirely, it is also a total lie. About the waiting part. He still has classes he's about to be late for. But he is so not _ever_ going to make Derek wait if he's there for a booty-

"I'm not here for a... for that," Derek grits out.

Stiles tries not to let his disappointment show too blatantly. "That sucks dude. I was totally looking forward to getting to try out giving head in my high school parking lot today," he says, voice rich with sarcasm as he gestures towards the jeep with the book. And OH GOD WHAT IS HIS MOUTH DOING? 

Derek's gaze sharpens on him, eyes dropping to his mouth for a moment at the words. Which. Okay, are also a lie. The sarcasm part of the words anyway. He bites his tongue hard inside his mouth. Because yeah, now he's thinking about giving Derek head in his jeep in the middle of his high sch-

"Would you put that damn thing away?" Derek snaps, eyes flashing red. His claws are out too, and there's the faintest hint of fang over his canines.

"Huh?" Stiles asks, looking down to check - yep. No, no inappropriate boner or unzipped fly or anything.

"The book," Derek says, rolling his crimson eyes. 

Which. Has he ever seen an Alpha Eyeroll? He doesn't think so. It's pretty bada-

"Oh!" he exclaims, jerking the book back to his chest. "Um." He shuffles his backpack around again, shoving it into the still-open gap and zips it shut, slinging it back around behind him again in record time. "Better?"

Derek just sighs and rolls his eyes again, his perfectly norm- well no. Normal doesn't really describe his eyes because they are fucking epic; mostly green except for where they are occasionally blue and sometimes gold around the pupils. But they're back to _Derek_ normal, at least. And no claws. He can't see his teeth but...

That's too bad, actually. He likes the red eyes, and claws too. They do exciting things down in the pit of his belly and... also... lower, more recently. Like. Now-ish. And that's juuuuuust _great_. He now probably reeks of arousal stronger than Harris on a power-trip. Which, eww. But also, not sufficient to distract him from the epic hotness that is Derek's pectoral cleavage between his crossed arms. And the little curl of hair that's visible above the neck of his black tank-top. And ok, no, STOP THINKING ABOUT HIS CHEST HAIR BECAUSE. Shit. He really doesn't need a boner in addition to the smell-

Fuck it. The guy had licked his come off his neck. He's entitled to reek embarrassingly of arousal near him. In fact, he's entitled to some answers. Or, failing that, he will totally accept hot booty-calls in the back of his jeep. At least... until someone calls his Dad. So, maybe a field-trip. Then a blow-job.

Aaaand... Derek is still staring at him. And. Shit. Blushing?

"Soooo...," Stiles manages. But then his words fail him too, because Derek's nostrils are flared and his jaw is tight and his eyes are hard on Stiles's mouth. And then when Stiles licks his lips reflexively, those eyes widen fractionally and he draws in a slow, deep breath. It would be impossible for Derek to miss the waves of arousal coming off his teenage body. Stiles is sure of that much. Which really isn't fucking fair because how the hell is he supposed to know if Derek is responding in kind?

But if there's one thing everyone agrees on about Stiles it is that he can sometimes be recklessly, stupidly brave. So he steps forward slowly. When Derek doesn't move, just looks at him with a slightly tighter breath and intent eyes, Stiles drops his backpack on the ground behind him and takes another step. With Derek leaning back slightly like he is against the jeep, his eyes are exactly on the level with Stiles's. Another step puts him within touching distance. Close enough to reach past Derek on either side and put his hands against the wall of his jeep. 

"You know, I know you totally want me. You've really already kind-of tipped your hand on that one. So don't even bother denying it," he said, going for a smirk that was about a million percent more confident in that statement than he actually was. Despite the seemingly obvious threads of sexual tension and reactive sexual behavior, he's never had any active evidence that Derek wants him. "Really, I only have one question." Also TOTAL LIES BU-, "My place or yours?" he asks, going for as casual as possible - and probably failing miserably, but not really caring in the slightest.

Derek's lips part at that, and he abruptly looks _nervous_ , like he doesn't know what to do. It sends a spike of excitement and anticipation to Stiles's gut. Like maybe if Derek has no fucking clue what he's doing either, then he can be as insane as he is being and just go for it and nobody, Derek included, can hold it against him because it was all just best guess.

"Or, fuck it, here's good too," Stiles says outrageously, just to spark a reaction, sliding his hands up against Derek's ribs and leaning closer towards planting one on him.

That galvanizes the alpha into action. He uncrosses his arms and grabs Stiles by the waist, turning him so Stiles is no longer boxing him into the jeep. And then he's striding away around the back of the car. Stiles feels his heart plummet in disappointment. But it's a feeling he's pretty used to. It had been a long shot after all and-

"Mine," Derek orders, voice rough as he turns around the rear corner of the car towards the passenger seat.

Oh.

Shit.

Really?

Shit.

Stiles scrambles for his backpack and keys, managing to get the door open and reach across to unlock the passenger door before Derek can change his mind and leave. Derek climbs into the jeep silently and crosses his arms again, glaring at the dashboard as Stiles pops the car in gear and rolls out of the parking space. 

It's definitely surreal. Not that surreal isn't perfectly normal nowadays, but this takes the cake. Yeah. He's still fucking dreaming, he decides. Scary magic book. Derek agreeing to go with him to do... well he isn't _exactly_ sure but he is like 87.4% sure it involves sex. Of some kind. Together. 

So yeah. Totally dreaming. 

He concentrates really hard on driving normally lest he get pulled over. Which, if his dad or any of his deputies are on patrol they will do no matter what since the jeep isn't exactly discreet and it's still school hours. So actually... Slow is maybe not the best plan after all, he realizes. Plus he really wants to get there, faster rather than slower. So he puts his foot down a little, and eventually starts to jiggle his leg as an outlet for some of his tension. But the leg movement just jostles his cock in his lap, making the boner-situation even worse. BECAUSE HOLY SHIT HE IS TOTALLY GOING TO DO SEX THINGS. INTENTIONALLY THIS TIME. His whole gut is kind-of tingling. And he is so, so glad that he'd decided when he was like, fourteen, to always be prepared, just in case. Carrying a couple condoms and a packet of lube in his backpack and glove compartment at basically all times. Just the smart and responsible thing to do really. 

But about halfway there he gets used to his own situation enough to take in the rest of the world a little. It's only then that he notices that Derek is just glaring at his hands in his lap, looking angry and even... confused. That right there is enough to... okay well, not kill his boner or anything because _fuck_ , but it is definitely enough to have him slowing off the gas and then pulling off the road at the next nature-trail turn-out and bringing them to a halt.

After a moment or two of silence, Derek looks up at their not-his-house surroundings and then over at Stiles in confusion. Stiles makes a sort-of grimace at him and looks back at where the heel of his hand is still resting on the steering wheel, tapping his fingers in agitation.

"Listen. You seem… I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I mean. We don't have to do _anything_ you don't want to do."

His words are met with silence, though he can see Derek's hands clench into fists in his peripheral vision.

"I mean, as much as I really, _really_ want to do anything and _everything_ with you. I'm not... Like, am I pressuring you?" he asks, hand flailing in the space between them for emphasis. "Because I know I can be really fucking obnoxiously persistent. And that would be so uncool if I were making you uncomfortable."

He waits a moment for Derek to chime in, but continues when he's met with silence again. "Because you seem like maybe you don't want to be here. I mean, I thought I was pretty clear about my intentions but... Ohmygod is this? Is it something like, you're trying to protect me so you went along with it to get me away from the school because I was being a stupid horny teenager and you totally don't-,"

He lets out a yelp when Derek's hand abruptly closes over his wrist, yanking his hand over to the passenger side of the car and pushing his palm down into his lap. Right. On his boner. His. REALLYHUGE. OHGOD OH FUCK DEREK REALLY HAS A-

His fingers tighten reflexively and Derek hisses out a growling breath, knocking his head back against the head-rest of his seat. Stiles jerks his hand back hard enough his elbow smacks on the sharp edge of his seat-belt buckle and he yelps again, clutching at the offended bodypart.

His heart is probably going about a million beats per minute now as he just stares at Derek's angry profile, which is staring up at the roof of his jeep. But yeah, nobody has ever said Stiles isn't ridiculously, recklessly - he stretches his hand out again, brushing his fingertips over Derek's thigh, feeling the muscle tense there as he slowly keeps moving. And then his fingers are back where Derek had put them, right on the bulging length of his dick inside his jeans.

He watches in awe as the muscles in Derek's abdomen tighten, as does his throat when he swallows. And just as he thinks he's making progress, Derek thumps his head back against the headrest again in frustration.

"I can't do this to you," Derek grinds out, fingers flexing into a fist.

Stiles jerks his hand back again. "Um. Yeah. Yeah you can. You can totally do whatever you want to me," Stiles blurts. "Well, I mean. Not _anything_ anything. I mean, because if you wanted to kill me or something I'd have to veto that because that would really suck. But-,"

But Derek isn't listening. Instead he's jerking the door open and shoving his way out of the jeep. Stiles gapes after him as he snaps the door closed behind him and then marches off into the trees without another word.

"Hey!"

Derek doesn't respond. He just keeps walking - no, jogging away. Stiles stares, aghast, then fumbles for his door, tumbling out of the jeep. He trips again, slipping in the loose leaves as he scrambles around the jeep to follow after him. But by the time he makes it around the car, Derek has completely disappeared into the brush.

Stiles drifts to a halt. "Derek!" he shouts, feeling a mixture of annoyance and concern. He stands there, gazing at the trees for a long moment before he turns and stomps his way back to the driver's side of the jeep, mouth pursed in frustration. The Derek Hale School for How to Make Friends and Influence People. Clearly verbal communication isn't on the syllabus. 

He waits for a few long minutes, jeans uncomfortably tight, but it becomes clear Derek isn't planning on returning. So he starts the jeep and pulls back around to the road. 

He sits at the turn for another long minute, then he turns back onto the route they'd been on before, heading for Derek's house. Maybe it's part hurt feelings, part rebellious determination to _make_ Derek communicate with more than glares and sarcasm. But he is going to see this thing out.

Because he has his proof now. Derek had totally gone with him, intending to do the sex. It's totally confirmed. Derek is into him, sexually at least. And unless Derek legitimately decides he wants to turn him down, he is totally cool with milking that for all it's worth. Though whatever is holding Derek back clearly needs to be dealt with. Maybe it's his age… 

But he's seventeen. And as the Sheriff's kid, with a very healthy interest in sex, he knows precisely how much he is no longer under the purview of consent statutes. At all. And even if he _hadn't_ been, there is pretty much no way anyone can convince him that he is not old enough to decide whether or not to put his body (which had been more than ready for sex for several years, thank you very much) to pleasurable use. Especially not given that he deals with all this supernatural shit and makes life-changing decisions on a regular basis.

And as for the rest…

Well. That is why he's going to go to Derek's place and wait it out till the guy explains.

He waits for hours, determined to wait the werewolf out no matter how long he played in the woods or lurked in the shadows. It isn't like he has anything better to do. Not really. 

Of course, he can't be expected to remain still, just sitting on the dusty couch and staring at the bits of charcoal still sitting in the corners. First he just starts to wander, just poking his nose around the rooms in the afternoon light. He's rarely had time to just look around the place. There's always been some sort of urgency any other time he's been at the place. The dirty mattress is gone from the living room, he realizes, and for a minute or two he is worried it means that Derek has moved out entirely, going back to holing up in some god-forsaken hovel somewhere again. Some other hovel, anyway. But his concerns are laid to rest when he spots a door - a new, clean door, standing out brightly against the charred door-frame in which it sits. 

"Derek?" he calls again, listening hard for any response as he nears the oddity. Hearing nothing, he paces forward and opens the door. He's not sure what he expects, but it sure as hell isn't what he finds. There is a bed in the room. A proper, honest-to-god frame and mattress with sheets and everything. The walls in this room are mostly still intact. A few holes have been patched up, actually making it something of a livable space. None of the outside world show through anyway, and the interior isn't actually so badly off either. Faded wallpaper is still intact in a few places. The window has been replaced. There are books on a little end table.

Stiles feels a twist somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at the sight. Derek has put down his first roots, the first threads of new growth here in Beacon Hills. There's still a hell of a long way to go, though. He picks up a scrap of wallpaper that has fallen down in the corner and carries it with him back out of the room. Another similar piece catches his eye just outside the door, which he adds to the pile. By the time he reaches the foyer again, his hands are full with detritus. He carries it all out to the porch, setting it in a pile to one side of the door. 

He gazes down at the trash with a slow nod. If Derek is going to put down roots, Stiles is sure as hell going to make sure there is clean soil for them to grow in. Because as much as he wants Derek around for physical reasons, Derek's just… part of his life now. And though their relationship doesn't meet traditional standards of friendship, calling him an acquaintance doesn't fit either. He rolls up his sleeves and heads back inside to gather more leftovers from the fire.

He works for hours, no sign of Derek turning up even though he goes to the edge of the clearing and calls for him once or twice. It doesn't seem like much progress from the inside, but the pile on the porch is getting to be significant by the time the sun is dipping down behind the trees. He'll have to come back with trash bags or something to bundle it up. Or maybe plant the idea in the Betas' heads that they could do the same. Or maybe convince Derek to get a dumpster and undertake a real renovation. Eventually though he drifts back to the bedroom, tired and not a little petulant as the natural light fades past the point of usefulness. 

He isn't, however, going to give up and go home. Not after all this. If Derek isn't going to show today, he'll just stay there till he does. And yeah, okay, maybe a good part of it is motivated by his dick and whatever ridiculous fantasies the sight of Derek's bed had started cooking in the back of his mind. But a hell of a lot more of it is motivated by the simple fact that things are totally unresolved between them, and if there's anything this crazy supernatural turn in his life has taught him, it's that life is way too short to give up that easily.


End file.
